things that cannot be hurried—le bon Dieu, Nature, and old people."
"Nonsense!" said Lenox. "You are not old."
"Ah, it is pretty what you say there."
"Here is Major Knighton," said Lenox.
Katherine looked round quickly and then turned back again.
"He is with Mr. Van Aldin," continued Lenox.
"There is something I want to ask Major Knighton about. I won't be a minute."
Left alone together, Poirot bent forward and murmured to Katherine:
"You are distraite, Mademoiselle; your thoughts, they are far away, are they not?"
"Just as far as England, no farther."
Guided by a sudden impulse, she took the letter she had received that morning and handed it across to him to read.
"That is the first word that has come to me from my old life; somehow or other—it hurts."
He read it through and then handed it back to her.
"So you are going back to St. Mary Mead?" he said slowly.
"No, I am not," said Katherine; "why should I?"
"Ah," said Poirot, "it is my mistake. You will excuse me one little minute."
He strolled across to where Lenox Tamplin was talking to Van Aldin and Knighton. The American looked old and haggard. He greeted Poirot with a curt nod but without any other sign of animation.
As he turned to reply to some observation made by Lenox, Poirot drew Knighton aside.
